


Red Casebook

by MommaUrsa, saccarines (orphan_account)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MommaUrsa/pseuds/MommaUrsa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/saccarines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gotham is no stranger to killers, but it’s not every day one emerges who gives their victim one last call. Commissioner Wayne is running the force ragged in this manhunt, especially as the victims begin to resemble his son - rookie officer Damian Wayne. It’s not until the killer hits close to home that Wayne realizes not everything may be as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Victim Report #1

               The room was large, but pitch black. She had known nothing but darkness for the past few days – she assumed it was days, she wasn’t quite sure how long she had been locked in there – and had to rely heavily on her sense of touch alone. Other than her own noises, the room had been completely silent. The sounds of herself fumbling around the room, tripping over the stairs that led up to a locked door, and groaning anytime she got hurt had been her only companions. She was starting to understand true isolation – the fear and loneliness that came with being locked away from the world – and it was slowly driving her mad. She was scared, she was hurt, and she wanted to be free.

               She just wanted to see her parents again.

               She was perched on the top stair, hands resting against the locked door as she sobbed. Her body shook with the force of her sobs, tears falling quick and collecting on her knees. “Please- Somebody, help,” she cried, fist weakly beating against the door. She wanted to go home to her father – God, the last time she spoke to him, she had told him she hated him – and her mother. She wanted to apologize for the explosive fight, for telling them she never wanted to see them again.

               “Mama,” the girl sobbed, hands shooting up to cup her face. Her black curls – now stringy and knotted from days without being kept – fell down around her face, blocking it from view as light filtered in through the darkness. A firm hand was placed on her shoulder. It squeezed, a gesture meant to comfort her and keep her from retracting as she tilted her head up to greet the stranger – her savior.

               Her eyes landed on the pressed, white button up. The gold pins glinted in the bright, almost blinding light. She had to put her hand up to act as a visor so she could keep her blue eyes pried open. Her brows furrowed. “Officer-“ She was cut off by the man’s voice.

               “It’s going to be okay.”


	2. Red Casebook Entry #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we begin.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news by now, but our resident serial killer has claimed another victim.”

The room was quiet, every officer focused on the wall behind the man speaking to them. Pictures and thumb tacks littered the area, connecting victims and places all over Gotham, from the high-end neighborhoods all the way to the slums. Despite the yards of string and dozens of snapshots, everything was inconclusive.

They hadn’t even given their killer a name yet.

“This morning we received a call from the parents of the victim. They’d been out of town overnight, but they came home to this on their answering machine.’

The man leaned against the wall, pressing a button on the remote in his hand. The speakers crackled on, filling the room with grainy silence. After a beat, the noise of watery breathing filled the room.

“Hi Mama.” It was a girl’s voice, broken and scratchy. Her breath hitched, coming out in a dry sob. “Daddy. I’m so sorry for worrying you. I know I’ve been gone for a few days and-.” She cut herself off with a small whimper. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I know I’ve been terrible to you. I told you I hated you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” A loud sob interrupted her words. “But. But it’s going to be okay, now. It’s going to be okay.” There was a long pause “I love you.”

The sound clicked off, enveloping the room in suspended tension.

“This is the first time we have a recording of the victim’s last call,” Officer Dick Grayson addressed them, pushing off the wall. “Judging from what we’ve been told by the families of the other victims, it’s almost a word-for-word copy of the other calls.”

“So...” One of the seated officers spoke up. Dick couldn’t quite recall his name. “If he makes them all say the same thing, how come we can’t hear him?”

“Most likely, he writes it down and has them recite it. The only major differences in the calls are when the victims are apologizing for the way they’ve acted in the past.” Dick folded his arms. “Aside from these calls, we don’t have a conclusive M.O. on this perp. The victims are too different to form a pattern based on gender or appearance. The only static thing is the call and their behavior. The victims are chosen because the killer believes they are...I suppose the term is ‘bad children.’”

“So he’s what? Killing them because they don’t like their parents?”

“That’s how it would appear. Based on that, we can at least conclude the killer either has a very good or very bad relationship with their own parents.”

“Isn’t the way he kills them more important?”

Dick turned to the new voice. In the room full of rookie officers, this was one he actually recognized. Commissioner Wayne’s son, fresh out of the police academy. Damian Wayne.

“What do you mean?”

“The bodies of the victims are similar, post-mortis.” Damian was staring at the open casefile in his lap. “They’re all carved in to, and they all eventually die from loss of blood. It isn’t the torture that kills them, it’s the blood loss.”

“True,” Dick rested his hands on his hips, “but what does that have to do with his ultimate M.O.? That’s the _way_ he kills them; not the _why_.”

“He paints them in blood.” Damian continued, “The pictures imply that he touches them gently. The blood isn’t dark where it’s been smeared, meaning he wasn’t pressing down. He was...”

“Caressing?’ Another rookie suggested.

Damian nodded. “He kills them intimately. That suggests a crime of passion. Love. Loneliness. Something like that.”

“He doesn’t love them,” Another said. “There aren’t any traces of semen on the bodies. They weren’t sexually assaulted.”

“Not that kind of love,” Damian snapped, clearly disgusted by the thought.

“So he’s a lonely killer?” An officer mused. “Gotham’s lonely killer. It’s catchy, at least.”

“No,” Dick frowns. “Until we know his complete M.O. we don’t name him.”

A soft grumble went through the room, but no one disagreed with the commanding officer.

“Commissioner Wayne wants this man found. He wants him brought in— _alive_ —to stand trial and face the families for what he’s put them though. You find a lead, you take it. You call for backup immediately. You don’t shoot to kill unless he shoots first. We want him found before another body turns up. He’s good, but he can’t be better than the entire GCPD, alright?”

The room shared a nod.

“Alright. You’re dismissed.”

The room shifted, tension from the briefing broken. The officers stood, some leaving the room and some staying behind to mingle. Dick watched the rookies with slight pride. Despite Bruce assigning him a squad-full, the officers were all coming along well. He hadn’t had many problems with them, and none had made any drastic mistakes yet.

Dick paused in his thoughts as he caught a glimpse of Damian heading towards the elevator. He pushed gently through the crowd, managing to slip through the doors just before they closed. Damian scowled at him, already leaning against the far wall. Dick beamed, “mind if I join you?”

“The doors are already closed, Grayson.”

“Then I guess you don’t mind.” Dick leaned against the opposite wall.

Damian made a tiny scoffing noise and folded his arms. “Your handling of this case is appalling, Grayson.”

“How so? Bruce thinks I’m doing well.”

“My father doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Damian looked at the ceiling as the elevator descended. “I believe you’re withholding information.”

“I can only tell you what Bruce lets me.” Dick said. “He’s still my boss, Damian. And I’m not actually withholding much. Bruce thinks there might be a pattern to where the bodies are found. I don’t.”

“There aren’t,” Damian agreed. “Someone would have guessed that by now. I would have guessed that by now.”

“You _are_ the most promising rookie we’ve got,” Dick offered a grin, “but don’t let pride blind your judgment. That’s how mistakes are made, and in this job, mistakes can be life or death.”

“I...would most likely avoid those mistakes.”

Dick laughed, “You can’t always, though. Just keep that in mind.”

Damian grunted. The elevator shudders to a stop, doors sliding open to reveal a dark, empty floor. Dick made a disappointed noise, “I can’t believe you still eat down here.”

“It’s quiet. I prefer the silence to the incessant chatter of my... _squadmates_.”

“You’re eating in the morgue. It’s _a_. creepy, and _b_. unhygienic.”

“No one asked you along.”

Damian exited the elevator, heading down the hall. Dick followed, “Yeah, but if I didn’t come you’d just be even creepier. And depressing.”

 


	4. Red Casebook Entry #2

                There was no such day as a quiet day when one lived in Gotham. Damian had quickly learned this when his mother first left him in Gotham’s cold arms, abandoning him with a father that barely knew a thing about familial affection. He was still a little bitter – Doctor Crane made sure he was conscious of this fact – but he had grown to enjoy his new life. He had his “brother” to thank for that, even if the older man was a damned idiot.

                “How do you _accidentally_ get arrested?” Damian’s eyes narrowed at his brother. He crossed his arms unhappily as he leaned on the door of the car.

                Jason snorted as he reached for the keys in Damian’s hand. “ _I_ didn’t start the fight.”

                “You sure _ended_ it,” Damian hissed as he jerked the keys away. “Criminals ride in the back.”

                “That hurts, chickadee,” Jason laughed.

                “Remember that next time you break someone’s nose.” He pushed himself away from the door and circled around to the driver’s side of the squad car.

                Jason scowled, and then stepped around to the passenger’s door. He jerked the door open, slamming it shut after slipping inside. Damian rolled his eyes at the behavior, and then climbed into the vehicle. The two sat in silence for a long moment. The sound of the engine purring to life followed by the sound of tires rolling over loose gravel filled their ears, each lost in thought.

                Damian cleared his throat. “I didn’t tell father, but he’s sure to find out,” he finally murmured before glancing over at Jason. “Unlike those idiots, I believe you had proper cause to retaliate.”

                Jason smirked as he reached over to pluck the cap from Damian’s head. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “I knew you had a soft spot for the working girls,” he chuckled as Damian snatched the hat away. He tossed his arms up to block a punch from his little brother.

                Damian’s nose wrinkled. “You owe me,” he hissed.

                “For paying bail or picking me up?” Jason’s brow shot up, head turning so his eyes were locked onto the younger man’s profile.

                “Both.” Damian glanced over at Jason. “Mostly for keeping it from father. You’re lucky I don’t work directly with him, or I would take it out on you.”

                Jason frowned before reaching out to gently squeeze the back of Damian’s neck. It was a gesture that often calmed the boy down, for whatever reason. “How _is_ work going?”

                Damian rolled his eyes. “I haven’t _disappointed_ father yet, so I suppose that counts for something.” He shrugged his shoulders, pushing the man’s hand away from his neck. He focused his gaze on the road, watching the streetlights and people passing in front of him as he drove. He reached for the radio and turned off the white noise that was making it difficult for him to focus on his own thoughts. “I think…I think I enjoy work” he admitted quietly.

                Damian glanced over to see the man’s pleased smirk stretching his lips. The younger brother rolled his eyes, and then let his elbow rest on the door. He pressed his face against his fist, the arm on the steering wheel relaxing.

                The drive to Bruce’s was a silent one. Damian was thankful that Jason kept his mouth shut for the entirety of it. He knew what to expect when they arrived. He could imagine the fight Bruce and Jason would have when the two entered the house. Knowing his father, the man would be home just on time to see Damian bring Jason home late in the squad car with only one explanation for it.

                Jason didn’t deserve half of the shit Bruce threw at him. Their father was hard to please, but easy to upset. Missteps would send the man into a silent, cold mode. Damian wasn’t sure if the silence was worse than when Bruce was mad enough to raise his voice and point out their mistakes. At least if the man spoke, they could talk back. The two brothers were outspoken, easily snapping back insults, pointing out the man’s own flaws.

                Perhaps that was why they _worked_ as a family.

                He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see his father’s car in the garage when they pulled up to the penthouse. He parked beside it before looking over to see Jason’s brow furrowed. His brother’s whole body tensed, eyes resting on their father’s vehicle.

                “If you beg, I might consider leaving before dinner,” Damian teased with a smirk.

                Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna be in trouble, too, brat. We were supposed to call him the next time this happened.” He reached over to muss up Damian’s hair. The younger man swatted at the hand, snarling a threat before they heard the door to the penthouse open. They both froze, directing their gazes to the large man standing in the doorway with a disapproving stare.

                Damian ran a hand through his hair before shoving the door open. He turned the keys, pulling them from the ignition as he easily slipped out of the car. He slammed the door behind him. “Father,” he greeted quietly, giving the man a small nod.

                Bruce shook his head, and then turned. He disappeared inside of the penthouse.

                Damian scowled. He glanced back at his brother, eyes narrowing as the man climbed out of the car. “You better put him in a better mood,” he huffed.

                “I’m still thinking about it,” Jason growled, slamming the door and stomping into the house. Damian’s nose wrinkled. He pocketed his keys before silently stepping into the penthouse. He toed his shoes off. He barely got the second one off before the shouting began.

                “It wasn’t my fault, Bruce,” he could hear Jason shout. Damian sighed, rolling his eyes when he heard the low, incoherent rumble of Bruce’s voice responding. “Would you rather us have called and made a scene there?”

                He shrugged his coat off and hung it on the coat rack beside the door before finally making his way the stairs to the main floor. He frowned, pausing in the doorway when he saw the two men slip into the kitchen. That _never_ boded well.

                Damian sighed, and then headed for the kitchen. He ran his hand through his hair, frowning as he slipped through the entryway.

                “I’ve told you to watch your behavior, Jason. How many times are we going to have to bail you out?” Bruce had his hands splayed on the counter as he leaned against it. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw set. A deep scowl tugged at the man’s lips. Damian hated the expression growing up, and he hated it just as much as an adult.

                “Maybe I don’t _need_ you to bail me out anymore,” Jason snapped. “It’s not like you ever fucking _listen_.” His older brother’s words were sharp.

                “You don’t need me?” Bruce curled his fingers, and then took a deep breath. He exhaled sharply, and then let his gaze drift over to meet Damian’s. “And you? Do you not need me?”

                Damian frowned at the question. “Not-“ he paused and cleared his throat. “Not like this. Not when we’re like this.”

                Damian crossed his arms as silence settled over them. He balled his hands into fists. He glanced between the two men. Jason looked like he was about to lose it, but his father…Father looked guilty. Damian felt his stomach churn as he frowned at the man.

                “Let’s- Let’s go out for dinner tonight,” Bruce sighed heavily. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “We could all use a change in pace.”

                Jason nodded his agreement. “You buyin’, old man?” His voice was strained and his expression remained serious, brows furrowed and lips pursed tightly.

                Bruce’s eyes wrinkled at the edges as he narrowed his eyes. He nodded slowly. “We’ll talk about this later.” He paused for a moment. “Discuss it,” he promised.

                Jason’s expression softened at that. “Later,” he agreed. He turned and shot Damian a tired smirk. “You want shotgun, brat?”

                Damian rolled his eyes at his brother. “If you don’t want it.”


End file.
